


Muse

by miladydewinter



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Renaissance, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 23:11:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5516726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miladydewinter/pseuds/miladydewinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal is an artist in Renaissance Italy, and street rat Will becomes his favourite muse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Muse

**Author's Note:**

> This is my gift for the hannigram holiday exchange to bitterwort over on tumblr. Have a lovely Christmas, and I hope you enjoy :)

There were worse ways to make money, Will thought, as he stood in Signore Hannibal’s front room wearing some odd excuse for a toga.

The man himself sat behind a large easel, peeking around it every few seconds to catch a glimpse of his model before disappearing back behind the canvas once again.

He’d spotted Will at the market. Or rather, Will caught his attention at the market, by running into him. Will’s dog was in the habit of running off, and since he knew all too well the kinds of people one found lurking in the alleyways of Florence, he wasn’t about to let his precious Winston get away.

He’d apologised immediately, but Signore Hannibal had said it was no trouble and even offered to help him look for Winston. Will had tried to turn him down (nothing in life is free, after all), but Signore Hannibal had insisted.

“We’ll talk payment later,” he’d said, adding when he noticed the way Will’s face paled, “Nothing financial, of course. I’m more than comfortable financially.”

Upon hearing he wasn’t expected to give the man money, Will was both relieved and alarmed in equal measure. “Not money” could mean anything. On the street, one couldn’t help but overhear rumours about the preferences of Signore This or Signora That, and the more scandalous gossip was always the most sought-after.

Will racked his brain in an attempt to work out if a Signore Hannibal featured in any of these rumours while the pair searched Florence for his missing dog.

He recalled something from a few years back. He’d… eaten a servant? Was that it? Will immediately dismissed that with a snort. From what he’d seen of the man thus far, Signore Hannibal was a kind, refined gentleman and, while Will knew better than to judge a book by its cover, people don’t just eat each-other. That’s crazy.

If the worst he had to fear was an obviously made up story about cannibalism, he could afford to owe this man a favour.

After finding Winston (and scolding him), Will asked Hannibal what, exactly, he’d meant by payment.

“I fancy myself as something of an artist, William,” he’d said, “and I’d love to paint you.”

“Me?” Will had gaped. It was a terrible facial expression and he felt so foolish; he knew it didn’t suit him at all, but he just couldn’t help it. _No-one_ was interested in him- his own parents had kicked him out when he was still a kid- so having anybody, let alone a nobleman, propose such an idea was absurd.

“No, Winston,” Signore Hannibal joked. “Of course you.”

And so it was that Will found himself in his current situation.

The silence was excruciating. Will found himself wanting to fidget, but every time he moved a muscle he’d hear a disapproving tut from behind the easel and would quickly rearrange himself as he was before.

“So, um,” Will said, keeping his neck extended, his eyes on the ugly vase by the window, as Signore Hannibal had instructed him to do, “have you ever eaten a person?”

It was like his mouth had decided to just ignore his brain altogether and act of its own accord. Inwardly, Will winced. This gentleman had been nothing but kind to him ( _kind!_ To _him!_ ), and this was how he repaid him.

He heard a strange noise coming from Signore Hannibal, and realised after a few seconds that, to his immense relief, it was laughter. 

“Why do you ask?” he asked. Will caught the smile that lingered on his face as he peered around his canvas to get another glimpse of his model. It was a nice smile. It fit his face well. “Got any recommendations for me?” 

Grateful for the easy nature Signore Hannibal had chosen to steer the conversation in, he played along. “There’s this man in the village. He owns the fruit stall. Lorenzo or something? He’s always yelling at me. I like to imagine he’d be quite fun to cut up into little pieces.” 

“Lorenzo, hm?” 

“Something like that.” 

The painting was not finished in one session, of course, as great works of art never are. Will and Hannibal arranged a time for their next meeting, Will swapped the strange toga-thing for his usual scruffy old clothes, and then he was gone. 

No more than two days later, the latest rumour to circle the streets of Florence caught Will’s attention far more so than these things usually did: Lorenzo (apparently that _was_ his name) had been found dead in his house. His heart had, rather strangely, been removed. 

What an odd coincidence, Will thought. He ignored the niggling feeling in the back of his mind that said this was more than just that. 

His second session with Signore Hannibal was a few days later. He was relieved to find that the atmosphere was relaxed right from the very start this time. The pair found themselves joking and laughing together like they’d been friends for years, and hadn’t been strangers until a week ago. 

When they were finished, Will changed into his own clothes and was just about to leave when Hannibal stopped him. 

“Stay for dinner, would you,” he suggested. Or, rather, decided. It was clear from his face he would not take kindly to denial. 

Will was not one to turn down free food, in any case. 

Signore Hannibal’s dining room was easily ten times the size of the alleyway Will had taken to calling home. He tried not to look too awestruck as he sat down at the table, which was also ginormous. He failed if the satisfied grin on Hannibal’s face was anything to go by. 

Dinner was brought out by one of the servants. Will studied the hunk of meat at the centre of the platter. It looked almost like… no. No, it couldn’t be, could it? 

He looked across as Signore Hannibal, hoping for some kind of reassurance that he was not about to eat Lorenzo’s heart with gravy and sliced carrots. 

Hannibal winked at him. 

At the end of the day, Will could safely say that Lorenzo had a very good heart. Make of that what you will. 

He continued to visit Hannibal, even after his painting was finished. He was still the gentleman’s main muse. Over time, he’d see enough sketches, paintings, odd doodles in the corners of letters, to build himself his own little army of Wills. Not that he’d want that. 

Eventually, Hannibal gave him a room of his large house to call his own. Just to save him the trouble of making his way across Florence every day, of course. 

And maybe Signore Hannibal ate people, maybe he didn’t. He certainly did have a fondness for going out late at night wearing a dark cloak. But who was Will to judge? 

To be honest, he’d be lying if he said there was no part of him that wanted to go out and help Signore Hannibal with his “hobby”. He couldn’t help it if the man was charming, and kind, and looked nice naked. Just like he couldn’t help it if sometimes, going out hunting with your friend, lover, whatever Hannibal was to him, seemed like an excellent idea. A _fun_ idea. 


End file.
